Young Loath
by HumanDictionary
Summary: A view of "Helga on the Couch" (and somewhat beyond) from the perspective of four year old Arnold P. Shortman.
1. I Like Your Bow

If there was one feeling Arnold Shortman understood, it was sorrow.

It had been three years since his parents Miles and Stella vanished in the jungles of San Lorenzo in their attempts to help the Green-Eyed People combat some malady known as the "sleeping sickness". While Miles' parents, Phil and Gertrude, filled in the role to the best of their abilities, Arnold knew that the hole in his heart could never truly be filled.

Yet, because of his grandparents Arnold never let his sadness really get to him; on the contrary, the loss of his parents as well as the stories Grandpa Phil told him lit a fire in him to be the kind of son they would be proud of. And on that rainy first day of preschool, as Arnold looked at the forlorn and mud-covered girl in pink he didn't need to be told twice as to what to do.

*fwump*.

Completely taken aback by the sudden reprieve of the falling rain, four year old Helga Pataki looked up at the unfurled umbrella. Up to that point, her morning had been nothing but tragedy. Mom and Dad were too smitten with her sister Olga playing piano to take _her_ to her first day of preschool forcing her to walk through Hillwood's most derelict streets, it had begun to rain something awful the very second her front door closed, her clothes were soaked with muddy water from a passing car and her lunchbox had been purloined by a stray mutt. It all sounded so contrived when she processed it in her head, as if she was looking for someone to notice her.

"Hi. Nice Bow."

"Huh" She squeaked.

"I like your bow, because it's pink like your pants." He continued.

Helga looked down at the boy with the oblong cranium sheltering her from the elements. His warm and honest face rivaled the sun itself and his words felt like a comforting blanket. Helga's entire body glowed as the boy walked her to the door of the preschool. Granted they had shared two steps together under his umbrella and part of her wished he'd have shown up sooner, but his generosity seemed to negate the bone-drenching journey she had undertook. She lingered in the doorway and let out a subtle coo while her newfound champion entered the preschool and went about his business.

" _So this is what it must feel like to be noticed. To be cared for. Maybe his head is a little…distinctive, shall we say, but his heart. Oh his heart, his simple, caring uncorrupt heart, how it quenches and replenishes my shriveled and corroded disposition. You, the dewy morning for my withered field, the oasis amidst my desert of neglect. What saint are you, that I may follow as your disciple?"_

"Um, aren't you coming in? Class is starting and I don't want you to be late."

With his coat hung up, Arnold comes back to the door and pushes it open for her to enter. She snaps back to reality and steps into the school. Arnold runs off into the room and quickly goes about making friends, particularly with one African American boy whose hair brings to mind a skyscraper. Helga took the opportunity to use the bathroom and try to make some effort at cleaning herself before class.

"Alright boys and girls." Called their teacher Mr. Frank. "It's circle time."

Helga looked at herself in the mirror. She had barely begun to look halfway decent enough for class. Her face, and not much else had been cleaned up before the teacher called his students together. Meanwhile, outside the bathroom, the children had already begun to say their name, age and a fun fact about themselves.

" _My face is at least clean_." She thought to herself. " _Might as well go out_."

"Alright so next we have…"

The bathroom door creaked open revealing a mud-caked Helga Pataki.

"Goodness gracious. What happened to you?" Shouted Mr. Frank.

"Well, my name is Helga Pataki. I'm four. And I walked here all by myself. I had my lunch stolen by a dog, and a car splashed me with mud."

The rest of her peers began to whisper and giggle over Helga's presence; that is all but one football-headed peer who stood up, took her hand and lead her to the circle time rug. Laminated placemats with a designated shape had been placed in a semicircle (hence the name). He returned to his space, marked with a blue truck and gestured for her to seat herself next to him, atop the space with the pink heart. Helga began to feel a-flutter again.

"Alright nobody move while I call Helga's parents." Mr. Frank said in a flustered tone. He turned and started muttering about how middle schoolers wouldn't be as much of a hassle.

"So your name is Helga. I'm Arnold. Arnold Shortman." They shook hands, and again her body weakened.


	2. About Face

The day continued uneventfully until snack time. Each kid lined up and got a plate with two graham crackers before selecting a place to sit. Arnold, already proving himself to be a budding Mr. Congeniality, naturally had half the class sitting near him. At his side was Gerald, who by now was tight enough with the football headed kid that the beginnings of what would come to be their secret handshake were taking form. The two of them bonded, blissfully unaware that the next table over sat Helga who continued to moon over the one person on earth who for the first time in her four years of life threw her any shred of kindness. As she sighed dreamily and lost herself in her thoughts, Harold Berman's pudgy fingers slid across the table and purloined the two untouched crackers from her plate. He waved them and laughed tauntingly before stuffing them into his greedy little maw.

" _That fat little lump._ " Helga thought as she teared up. " _It's not enough some stupid mutt steals my lunch, the lunch mommy lovingly worked to make me. Now my snack gets taken too. I'm so hungry. At least the dog who stole my lunch was genuinely starving._ "

At the other table, Arnold and Gerald found their conversation distracted by Harold's victorious guffaws. While Gerald shook his head, Arnold couldn't help but see Helga's lips trembling and her eyes welling with tears. He looked down at the barely touched snacks on his plate and then at the girl across from him. While graham crackers were nice and all, it wasn't like he _needed_ them that badly. Arnold stood up knowing what had to be done.

"Want mine?"

Helga looks up; once again there was Arnold, that shining beacon of altruism offering his snack to her. Transfixed, she mutely nods as the plate leaves his fingers. He returns to his table, waving over his shoulder to Helga. Almost reflexively, that goofy grin comes back as she returns his salutations and grasps her hands to her heart.

" _Oh Arnold. You kindhearted little lighthouse of sanity in this vicious ocean called life. What have I done to deserve so much as a glance from you, let alone any-?_ "

Harold clearly had read Helga's thoughts and much to the delight of Rhonda Sid and Stinky he began to pantomime her lovesick smile and posturing. They howled and hooted over her swooning and smirking. She started to walk away from the table, but the laughter only got louder. And God help her if she sought refuge near Arnold.

As the cacophony continued, something deep in Helga's psyche suddenly snapped that day. It wasn't enough that hell was a place called home with Bob and Miriam's neglect and Olga's chipper perfectionism. School was now shaping up to be yet another theatre for her to be mocked and ostracized like a circus freak; she came to school hungry and covered in mud, and now all the children she was to share every milestone of childhood with mocked her over the one moment of happiness she had ever felt. But none of it compared to looking up at Arnold and seeing his face turn into a mortified frown. How much did he see? How much did he suspect?

" _Did it matter anymore?_ " She thought as her brow furrowed.

"Quit laughing geekbait, or you'll have to answer to Ol' Betsy and the…and the five Avengers!" Helga suddenly shouted as she pushed Harold over and stood atop the table.

The entire class immediately went dead silent.

"Old _who_ and the Five _what_?" Harold asked.

"My fists, Stupid!" Helga snapped back. "That's their names!"

"What? Wait, wait, your fists have names?! Oh, you're confusing me!" Harold moaned.

Helga had no time for his stupidity. She had to cement her status as top dog and fast to boot. Harold's belly burst out of his shirt like a mound of Jell-O. After jumping on it, she proceeded to knock over Phoebe's blocks.

"I'm the boss around here! Got it?"

The class nodded, stunned that the little girl who one second ago was quietly enjoying the throes of young love was now barking out orders like an angry fascist. Most shocked of all was little Arnold. He looked down at the empty table where his plate of crackers once sat, then up at the little girl in pink stalking around the class menacingly. His belly let out a faint gurgle as he thought of how his good deed was repaid.


	3. The H Word

Maybe it was because her change in conduct was painfully abrupt.

Maybe it was because she went the extra mile when it came to tormenting him over all the other kids.

Or maybe it was because the way she was all too willing to be cold, violent and emotionally abusive to everyone she crossed paths with, coupled with nobody's willingness to do anything about it, personified a massive betrayal to every value he held stock in.

Whatever the reason, Helga G. Pataki became the bane of Arnold Shortman's preschool experience.

Since that first day of preschool three months ago Helga had come to rule over the children at Urban Tots with an iron fist; spilling paint on them, vandalizing their property, calling them names, making threats, and even beating them up if the occasion arose. They learned quickly not to tattle on her when one student in particular made the mistake of doing so and he wound up losing a tooth after a particularly vicious beat down.

But of all the children in preschool, it was Arnold who earned a special layer of her contempt.

If she wasn't calling him names, she was throwing things in his general direction or waving Ol' Betsy around threatening to use it on him one day. Day after day, he was treated to some creative new threat or jab about the shape of his head/hair.

And when preschool let out for the day, Grandpa Phil was the first to have the pleasure of hearing all about it.

 **(three months prior)**

 _Phillip Shortman steps out of his Packard as the children exit the building. He didn't have to wait all that long before Arnold rushed from out the doors._

 _Hey, Arnold!" He calls lovingly from next to his Packard car._

 _"Gwan'pa!"_

 _After exchanging a quick hug, the both of them began their drive back to the boarding house. As the Packard sped off, Arnold looked out the window and watched the buildings whiz by._

 _"Gee, Shortman. You seem pretty quiet for someone who just started school." Phil said after a period of silence. "Usually you're talking my ear off."_

 _Arnold continued to look out the window._

 _"Make any new friends?" Phil asked again, suddenly breaking into a sly smile. "I know you've got that cute little girlfriend with the one eyebrow already-"_

 _"Grandpa, she's not my girlfriend." Arnold abruptly said, slightly embarrassed by him. "Or even my friend for that matter."_

 _"Well, ain't that some news!" said Phil. "You were all sweet on her this morning with your umbrella."_

 _"And my graham crackers too." Said Arnold clutching his stomach. "She was so quiet all day, sighing and smiling; then all of a sudden she just pushed Harold off the table and threatened to beat him up. Then she spent the rest of the day stomping and shouting about being the boss of us."_

 _"Well, I don't know what to tell you Shortman." Grandpa said when they reached home. "Maybe she was cranky today. It's still kinda overcast and the rest of the week isn't going to be all that good so…just give her a chance and just keep being you. Who knows what tomorrow holds, maybe she won't be as mean as all that."_

 _"Maybe your right." Arnold said. "Who knows what tomorrow holds."_

 **(back in the present)**

Nothing got better. Preschool for Arnold became an unending litany down the rabbit hole of emotional terrorism at the hands of this little girl and Phil felt powerless a long time ago. He called and complained about her, but so did all the other kids' parents. They recommended therapists and child psychiatrists from hither and yon but her parents wouldn't have it. Suspending her was also run up the proverbial flag-pole but one modest donation from Big Bob's Beepers and that idea was swept back under the rug. The best Urban Tots could do was sit her in the corner and document what she did.

The best he could do was listen, but even then, her name had become a throbbing tumor a long time ago:

"Helga called me 'Hair boy'"

"Helga beat up Brainy, again."

"Helga spilt paint on Sheena."

"Helga pushed Gerald and stole his snack."

"Helga threw clay at me."

"Helga clobbered Sid."

"Helga. Helga. Helga. Helga…"

Today in particular, Helga threw a can of paint onto Harold during art time, threatened to glue Sid's nostril shut and stole Arnold's blue hat.

Phil stopped being phased by Arnold's daily soap operas, but today was a little different. The faucets stopped working because one of the pipes rusted out from age. It wasn't something he could fix easily, so now he had to break the bank on a good plumber. Additionally, one of their tenants Oskar Kokoschka only paid him a quarter of what he owes in rent for the last three months. Phil's patience with the day was already taxed enough as it was to care.

 _"He's just a boy Phil."_ The old man kept repeating to himself. " _He wasn't home all day. Just let him vent. Just let him vent."_

The two of them finally got home.

"Kimba!" His grandmother shouted lovingly. "How goes the hunt? Say, it's rough out there! You should have the proper headgear."

"I did. It got stolen." Arnold replied with a tad of bitterness.

"Must have been a fight!" said Grandma. "Was it a tiger? Lion? Ooh. I bet it was a stampede."

"It was a hyena." Said Arnold, with a temper rising in his voice. "A vicious, loud, ugly hyena named Helga G. Patak-"

"OH GODDMANIT ARNOLD PHILLIP SHORTMAN!" Phil Roared as his fist hit the table. "IF I HEAR 'THE H WORD' FLY FROM YOUR MOUTH I'LL KNOCK IT INTO NEXT WEEK AND MAYBE GET SOME PEACE IN THESE PARTS!"

The whole house went dead silent. Gertrude quickly looked down at Arnold then turned to stare down her husband. Phil caught himself after a few seconds realizing what he had done and sheepishly sat down. Elsewhere around the house Ernie and Oscar each looked at the direction from Phil's outburst with shock.

Then there was Arnold; all his life, Grandpa Phil was many things, but anger was never one of them. After three seconds of being floored, a tear began to roll down his eye and the bottom of his lip began to quiver.

"Arnold, I-" began Phil.

Arnold was having none of it. He flew from his grandma's arms and dashed up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. The slam of his door and a faint sob was the last anyone heard from him in a while.

The afternoon wore on into the evening. Dinner had been long since cooked and eaten (in silence owing to everyone still being shocked over earlier events) but nobody made heads or tails of little Arnold since Phil's outburst.

7:30pm.

The last dish had been rinsed off and put away, Gertie continued to look at her husband as he ruefully watched the water flow down the drain.

"Kimba's never seen you angry Phil." She said in hopes of breaking the silence.

"I know Pookie." He replied. "I know I shouldn't have done that, but for the last three months all he's been doing is yammering about that little one-eye browed girl in his class."

"It never bothered you before today?" Gertie asked as she sat at the kitchen table.

"And it really didn't bother me today either." Phil protested. "But you had the plumbing go out, and don't even get me started on that Kokoschka bum and his rent. He can take his poorly printed IOUs and shove them up his lazy-"

"But those are your problems, not his." She replied in a rare moment of clarity. "Arnold had something very important of his taken from him today, something that reminds him of his parents perhaps?"

The wheels in the old man's head turned for a while. He thought about picking up Arnold from school vs when he dropped him off; he had his shoes, his pants, his little coat and…

"His hat from Miles!"

Gertrude nodded.

"The poor kid." Phil said feeling like the world's biggest idiot. "Hell, I'd be pissed too! I know how I can make this right, but I don't know if it would work."

After a particularly stormy fifteen minute phone call to the Pataki house, Phil heated up a plate of leftovers and put a large slice of cake next to it on a tray with a can of Yahoo soda. He slowly walked up the stairs to Arnold's room, gently pushing the door aside.

Arnold lay under the covers facing away from the door. He was leafing through a photo album with snapshots of life with his parents. One photo in particular warrants an audible sniffle; his first birthday in the park. Miles and Stella look so happy together mid laugh as Arnold's new little blue hat fits snugly on his nose, and not atop his head. It was only a matter of time after that before Eduardo called them back to the jungle, before they bid him goodbye forever.

The door creaked open slightly and his grandfather gently called to him.

"You busy, Shortman?"

(AN): Thanks so much to all for the reviews, faves, and follows thus far! I'm humbled that people think I should write for this fandom.


	4. All Hail the Football King!

Arnold quickly shut the album and turned around to face his Grandpa. He stared blankly at the contrite look his grandfather gave through the barely opened door.

"I bet you're hungry." He said coming into Arnold's room fully. "We saved you some dinner and a little treat."

He set the tray down onto Arnold's nightstand. He gently began to pick at the plate before him in silent hopes of telling his grandpa that all hard feelings had dissipated, for the most part.

"Look, I came to apologize for my outburst today." Phil began slowly. "I talked with Helga's dad and she'll be handing you your hat back tomorrow at school."

He sighed.

"Arnold, had I only known that she did what she did to you today I'd…maybe have paid more attention. It's all mostly been verbal altercations between you and your…Helga I mean. Then, I had a bit of a day where everyone and everything wanted a piece of me and I, well I took it out on you and I want you to know what was very wrong of me."

"It's not that." Said Arnold quietly.

Phil leaned in closely, clearly taking the bait.

"Mom and Dad are gone." Arnold said slowly. "You tell me these stories about their goodness and adventures, and, I want to make them proud of me."

"Arnold of course your parents would be proud of you!" Phil exclaimed. "Whether it's here, or San Lorenzo, or Manitoba, or-"

"I know, it's just…" Arnold began again. "Whenever I do something good, I feel them next to me. Like they're saying, 'that's Arnold. That's our boy Arnold.' Then you get people like Helga. What does she do all day? Punch people, throw things, steal your belongings. And dealing with her is like a brick wall. And you feel…you feel…"

"You feel that here you are pushing yourself to be that little slice of fairness and brotherhood in the world." Phil interjected. "Then you see others going out of their way to be warlike and tear that goodness down. But the real pain is seeing other's helplessness around you, or being told to buckle up because the world only gets less fair from here. Yet that same world is all too quick to bring heaven and earth crashing on _you_ when you can't find the strength to be kind anymore."

Arnold gave his grandfather a stunned look and nodded vehemently. Every word he just said perfectly articulated his feelings at dealing towards Helga.

"How did you know?"

"Because Shortman, your father felt the same way a lot of the time as a kid." Phil said wistfully. "In fact, those were the exact same words your dad told me the night before he got suspended in high school."

Arnold's jaw hit the floor; _his_ father, Miles Shortman, the sainted healer of the San Lorenzo jungle was suspended. It was too much for him to comprehend. He grabbed the soda off the nightstand and began to take a sip.

"Oh yeah." He continued. "It all began with this hot-shot football star kid in his class Randolph…no, Ruben, wait…R…Robert. Yes, Robert Pataki.

Arnold almost spit his drink out.

"Pataki?!" He yelped. "That's Helga's last name too!"

"Oh, maybe they're related." Phil said dismissively. "Anyway, the way your dad made it out, Robert Pataki felt that because he was the big athlete and all, his actions on the field excused any antics he did off it."

 _Arnold visualizes the main hallway of the town's high school. Busting through the front doors is Robert Pataki, around age 16. His thick jet black hair barely scraped the ceiling of the building and the varsity jacket strained under the pressure of his broad and muscular physique. As the school's winningest quarterback, he strutted confidently through the fawning fellow learners, nodding and saluting his equals as he passed by. He opens his locker and after reverently folding the jacket, places it on the top shelf; revealing his #22 football jersey. A fitting number as both twos each reinforced the moniker he had picked up as the hero among those around him; Big Bob. Captain of the Hillwood High Lumberjacks._

 _He turns downward at the sound of heavy breathing; a nerdy looking kid, looking like Brainy with an afro, bears a stack of papers before him._

 _"Wha?" Robert said abruptly. "Oh yeah, yeah, that anthropology paper."_

 _He takes the paper and tosses a nickel to the kid._

 _"Hey!" The kid said indignantly as he yanked at Robert's jersey. "You promised me a five!"_

 _"I never said in dollars!" He replies flinging the kid headfirst in the trash. "Writing my papers should be privilege enough you little loser."_

 _Across the hall, a young Miles purses his lips and grits his teeth. Once he had counted to ten, he helps the kid get back on his feet and tapes up his glasses._

"Oh, it miffed your dad something awful to deal with him." Phil continued. "Shoving kids in dumpsters, skating by in classes, breaking girl's hearts. But I always told him, I said 'Miles, the best thing you can do is worry about being yourself, because that's who you're accountable for. '"

 _Bob and Miles sit in the same Anthropology class. While Miles is diligently working on his paper, Bob reclines, leaning in his seat and putting his feet squarely on the desk; occasionally making and flicking paper footballs across the room, much to Miles' annoyance._

 _One of Robert's paper footballs nicks Miles square in the back of the head. He turns around and shoots him a particularly nasty look._

 _"What?" Robert whispered venomously._

 _"*ahem* Mr. Pataki. Mr. Shortman." Said the teacher. "I assume I'm not interrupting the National Congress back there, am I?"_

 _"No." Both boys said in unison._

 _"Good, now eyes up at me." Said the teacher pointing to her glasses to reiterate her point. "Especially you Mr. Pataki. There's something we need to discuss after class."_

"Thankfully, your dad had some friends to keep his mind off things." Phil continued. "Nice little group of kids too; Martin, Jerry and…oh, that kid in the sweater vests…Oh well, one day I get a phone call from the school telling me that Miles and that Pataki boy had a bit of a spat."

 _The force from Robert Pataki swiping Miles' notes could have rivaled a speeding car. He looked up from his lunchtime study session to see the young football star nonchalantly walking off across the cafeteria. Miles stood up and followed his bully, eventually cutting him off and staring him down._

 _"And what do you want?" Robert growled._

 _"My notes for starters." Miles answered._

 _"Yeah well I need them more than you do." He replied thumbing his pectoral for emphasis._

 _"To cheat I assume." Miles mumbled._

 _"You got something to say?!"_

 _"You heard me."_

 _"Listen Shorty!" Robert bellowed. "Cerkanowitz told me that if I don't pass that next Anthro test in two weeks my grade plummets. If my grade plummets, I'm not on the team anymore. If I'm not on the team anymore who the hell will lead the Lumberjacks to victory? You?! Fat chance! Since you're such an egghead I need your notes pronto, deal?"_

 _"No." said Miles gritting his teeth. "I'm willing to tutor you as a gesture of good faith, but-"_

 _"Don't you get it?" Robert continued as his face got increasingly redder. "I got no time for that! How can I be 'Big Bob the Football King' if I can't play football because of some stupid test?"_

 _"Then consider this a wake-up call that you tromping around being 'Big Bob the Football King' can only take you so far." Miles responded._

"The two of them dueled something awful that day in the cafeteria over those school notes; each doing a fair amount of damage to each other, and some school property, before the teachers got involved. Oh I was so mad at the boy for what he did when he got home, didn't know he had the wherewithal to put the Pataki kid in the hospital with his teeth busted out and his eyes-"

Phil suddenly stopped, Arnold's face had gone from complete shock to a day-dreamy awe. He knew that look on his grandson's face and what it meant. The wheels in Arnold's head were turning and formulating the image of his father as some big Sheriff-style hero taking things into his own hands; and how this may be the right course of action to emulate.

"But Arnold, this is the most important part of the story and I want you to remember this." Phil said, his tone changing to concern. "Many years later, Miles came to me and said that he regretted what he did that day."

"What?!" Arnold finally said snapping out of his delirium. "But, Robert bullied Dad and all the other kids in class too. Why should he feel bad? This guy got what he earned and so should Helga."

"Shortman, Shortman, Shortman." Said Phil. "Remember what you told me a couple of minutes ago about your mom and dad being proud of you?"

Arnold nodded.

"Well, one day it occurred to your dad that he wasn't proud of _himself_ for what he did." Phil continued. "Sure finally beating Robert up felt good in the moment, but that moment passes, and life goes on. Acting on his hate weakened your dad after a while and no matter how many bruises he left; the fight showed _his_ weakness more than it did _Robert's_ because he allowed himself to fall into his trap. That's why he went into the jungle, that's why he went to help the Green-Eyes. He did it so that you can learn what it means to be strong. "

"But the only strength she knows is with 'Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers.'" Said Arnold holding up his fists for effect.

"Arnold, you're mad and I get it." Phil replied "I can't in good conscience tell you that you're wrong to feel this way about that one-eye browed girl. I also can't tell you _how_ and _when_ to feel your feelings. But I will say that there will come a point when those bad feelings start to control you and not the other way around. They will consume you if you let them Arnold."

Phil looked at Arnold's potato clock and bid him goodnight.

"Gwan'pa?"

"Yes Arnold?"

"How will I know if they do? And how do I stop them if it does?"

"That is a question you alone can answer. Not me."

AN: Yeah, Arnold gets a little OOC here. And without giving anything specific away he will continue to do so later on with Helga (this is called "Young Loath" after all). But we all know he'll redeem himself.


	5. Compassion, and a Lack Thereof

"COMPASSION?! DO I LOOK LIKE THE STINKIN' POPE TO YOU?!"

Arnold, Gerald and Phil watched through the windows of Big Bob's Beepers as a frightened Vietnamese man in a blue shirt begged at the feet of the store's owner, Bob Pataki. The three of them had come home from a wonderful day in the park when they passed the store and overheard the boss' his bellowing and the other man's pleading. The windows did little to muffle their 'discussion.'

"Mr. Bob, please I need this job. I try to hire PI to find my daughter-"

"YADDA, YADDA, YADDA, THE CHURCH IS THAT WAY HYUNH!" The bellicose beeper salesman continued. "TAKE YOUR ISSUES THERE! I GOT A BEEPER EMPIRE TO RUN HERE AND I CAN'T EXACLTY DO THAT WHEN THE CUSTOMERS ASK YOU QUESTIONS AND YOU CAN'T BOTHER TO LOSE THAT ACCENT OF YOURS FOR-"

"Sheesh, it's a wonder that tyrant stays in business at all." Phil replied dismissively as he covered Arnold's ears.

The door to the so called "Beeper Empire" opened automatically. The frightened former employee ran out in a fit of tears while Big Bob stood in the threshold pointing outward. From behind his leg toddled a blonde little girl dressed in pink overalls and a matching bow holding a help wanted sign. She looked up at her dad for a moment and mimicked his posture.

"Church is that way! Take your issues there!" she shouted while looking up at her father for some sign of approval.

"Just hand me the sign Olga." Bob replied.

"It's Helga daddy."

"Whatever, sign not lip girlie. Leave the underlings to me."

Once the sign passed through her fingers. Helga saw that Arnold had been looking back at her square in the eye during the whole episode. A brief but venomous look of disappointment clouded his face. Helga's composure drained from her as mortification gripped her, and the weight of what she said crushed her like a sack of bricks. While her father still loomed in the archway, Helga backed away slowly, running once she was certain Arnold wasn't looking and began to weep bitterly.

Arnold tentatively stepped towards the despondent Asian man as he bawled in the parking lot of his former place of employment. His grandfather quickly grabbed Gerald and began to follow him but Arnold tapped on the stranger's shoulder.

"I couldn't help but overhear, sir." He said with a voice full of pity. "I'm sorry about him, and your daughter."

"Arnold! Stranger Danger!" Phil shouted as Arnold embraced the sad man. "I'm sorry sir, my grandson here just-"

No. Thank you little boy." Mr. Hyunh replied. "This is the first time in this country anyone show me compassion. My name is Khiem Hyunh, and might I say sir, you have a wonderful grandson."

"Phillip Shortman." Said Arnold's grandfather shaking the gentleman's hand. "I was just on my way to take the boys to lunch, would you like to come along?"

"Oh, yes please!" said Mr. Hyunh.

* * *

Even though time passed since her beloved Arnold left, Helga continued to sob and sulk around the beeper store. Before she knew it, the lunchtime lull had set in at the beeper store. From behind a display of Bob jovially gesturing to the deals of the day, she pulled from her overalls a frayed and folded pink construction paper heart with lace that was beginning to show signs of mangling. She unfolded the paper heart and nuzzled it, whispering her sorrows to the smiling photograph of Arnold she had taped to the one side.

"Oh Arnold. Why of all my moments was this the one you saw? If you only could see the full me, the me that-"

"Hey Girlie." Bob thundered.

Helga stepped out from behind the display, sliding the heart back into her clothes.

"I gotta be here for in case any customers show up." He continued handing her ten dollars. "Run down to Sub King for me and grab a 'Full Footer' meal of the Big Philly and…"

Bob thumbed through the cash in his wallet and tossed another three dollars her way.

"…eh, get whatever you eat while you're at it."

Helga scowled as she grabbed the cash her father all but flung at her and exited the store. Before making the four block trek to the eatery, she looked up at the imposing billboard of Bob in his Beeper King crown that topped the emporium. While others would see his megalomaniacal grin as a sad gimmick meant to intimidate any potential competition, and warn them Hillwood was his territory, Helga saw it as the only time she could say her father ever truly smiled at her. After five seconds, she began her walk to Sub King.

Halfway through her journey, Helga came upon a broken vanity mirror someone was tossing in the garbage. She stopped for a while to contemplate her reflection, marred by the crack marks and missing fragments of glass. Arnold's face seemed to flicker behind her, giving her that titanium-withering glance of disenchantment before vanishing just as instantly as it arrived. She wanted to look away, close her eyes, gouge them for all she cared, but something stopped her.

 _"No Helga. Don't act like you don't deserve this feeling. You look in that fractured mirror at the broken and angry girl before you; why, because_ _he_ _has. He's seen you for the cold and uncaring brat you are. This isn't a wall anymore. Maybe it began that way for preschool, but this wasn't preschool. This was real life and if he held you in any favor you, it has turned to ash. You should be surprised that it only took him this long to look at you like that._

Helga ran the rest of the way to Sub King, trying not to let the welling tears escape her further. She reached the restaurant and peered through its front window, seeing Arnold and Gerald being shooed away by Grandpa Phil while he and Mr. Hyunh talked amongst themselves. Her eyes followed the two of them toddling away from the table to refill their drinks.

"I know I'm rough around the edges Arnold, but please, don't shut me out." She whispered sadly before entering.

* * *

Over lunch, Mr. Hyunh confided in Philip about his life in the states and back at home. He had survived a war that unified his country, but at a terrible price both personal and political. The only other surviving member of his family, a daughter he gave over to a platoon leaving the US Embassy in Saigon, was rumored to be in Hillwood. It took him almost twenty years before he finally come to the States five months ago with the hope of saving enough money to hire a private investigator to find her. In the meantime, he worked a series of odd jobs and barely had a roof over his head. The last job thus far was the beeper emporium as a customer service rep.

While the two men talked, Arnold and Gerald bantered at the soda fountain. The later of the two boys begun to smile confidently at a pair of older girls, a brunette Latina and her blonde friend, each of whom looked at least old enough to be in elementary school. Arnold rolled his eyes at his friend's attempts to be a mini-stud then went back to his thoughts.

"Something wrong buddy?" He asked.

"She sobbed." Arnold replied.

"Who?" said Gerald.

"Helga. When she said those things to Mr. Hyunh, I...it…it just got to me is all. But then when she ran away I could swear I heard her crying. You think we're wrong about her Gerald? I know she's mean to us and all but, do you think that there's more to-"

"Look man," said Gerald patting his friend on the back. "I know it's not easy to admit but Helga's just a bully plain and simple. We've just seen where it all comes from now. [There's] nothing we can do to change that."

The little bells on the Sub King door jingled as Helga walked into the eatery and made her way to the line.

"Speak of the Devil." Gerald whispered.

"And what can I get you today little lady?" the man behind the counter asked Helga.

"The Big Philly Full Footer meal, and a 'Bitty-Biters' meal; pastrami and apple juice. Both to go." She replied.

"That'll be $15.95" He replied.

Arnold looked at Helga as she counted the money Bob allotted to her. She pouted briefly while her stomach let out a faint rumble, but ultimately asked through gritted teeth that her portion of the order be stricken off. Her new total came to $11.45. Once she received her order, Helga walked over to the soda fountain and in a rueful haze bumped into Arnold and Gerald.

"Arnold." She yelped. "I...I mean, crimeny, can't a girl get some breathing room you football-headed creep?!"

"Oh, hi Helga." Arnold replied shyly. "Gerald and I were having lunch with grandpa and Mr.-"

"Yeah, yeah, like I'm really dying to hear your life story Arnold-o." She shot back pushing both the boys over. "This cup won't fill itself, and mercy help us all if Bob doesn't get his meal, so if you and tall-hair-boy over here don't mind wasting space somewhere else for a change."

With her dad's cup filled to the brim, Helga left Sub King and began her journey back to the beeper store. Both the boys dusted themselves off and sighed.

Mmm-mmm-mmm!" Gerald said shaking his head. "What'd I tell you Arnold? A plain and simple…Arnold?"

Arnold toddled over to the front of the line and pulled his hand from his pants pocket. Earlier in the park, he had stumbled upon a lost five dollar bill wadded up near the seesaws. He placed it on the counter and called for the man's attention.

"Young man, do you really think that cutting in line-"

"I know, I'm sorry but I'll be quick." The boy replied quickly, almost in one breath. "That little girl, the one that just ordered a 'Bitty Biters' meal. She was running an errand for her dad and didn't have the money for her _own_ lunch. But _I_ do. _I'd_ like to order her meal and pay."

While a smile slowly formed on the man's face, Gerald gasped in horror over Arnold's decision.

"Arnold." He gasped. "Are you insane?! This is _Helga G. Pataki_ we're talking about."

"You're right Gerald, its Helga G. Pataki." Arnold replied. "And if she wants to be unfeeling and cruel then that's on her. As for me, I'll be what I want with my life, and what I want to be is the bigger person."

"You're a bold kid Arnold." Said Gerald as they gave each other their secret handshake. Arnold grabbed the Bity Biters box and left the eatery to follow her.

" _Something tells me I'm going to be saying that a lot to him._ "

Arnold ran quickly towards Helga as she continued her journey back to Big Bob's. The smell of Philly Cheesesteak wafting tauntingly through her nose and the sound of the soda sloshing back and forth in her cup exacerbated the growls that came from her stomach. Despite her hunger, she still outpaced Arnold who by now had begun to lose his breath trying to reach her.

"*wheeze* Helga *gasp*"

The blonde girl let out a frustrated grunt and reflexively socked the source of the noise behind her. By the time Helga had come to her senses it was too late. Arnold lay on the sidewalk covered in Bob's soda, and knocked out cold from the punch to the face she had delivered. An ugly shiner ornamented his left eye from where her fist came to rest, and his fingers still wrapped themselves around the Sub King to-go bag. No scream felt cathartic enough to relieve her anger and regret.

Helga bawled remorsefully as she moved Arnold as gently as possible onto a nearby stoop. He let out a faint moan once situated on the lowermost step. Once she had taken the bag from his hands, Helga planted a demure kiss on Arnold's cheek and whispered an apology.

* * *

"God, you look like crap."

Arnold finally came to, beaming lovingly at the tall and lanky girl standing before him; something about her brown shoulder-length hair and how it sat atop her semi-football shaped head triggered a sensation of longing in the hole within his heart. Helga did bean him pretty hard, but the resemblance was still too uncanny for words.

"Mom?" He slurred.

"*Pfft.* No." the girl replied with a laugh. "Someone must've done a number on you huh? I'm Ruth. "

Arnold didn't hear her response, as he was still reeling over how much this complete stranger by some extraordinary genetic coincidence looked eerily like his missing mother Stella. His face had frozen over into a dopey grin.

"You're cute and all, but you can't keep living here on my step." Ruth continued. "Where's home?"

"Arnold." The boy replied. "My name is Arnold."

"Well Arnold, where do you live?" Ruth asked again snapping a couple times in his face.

"Oh, Sunset Arms."

"That's a way off." She thought to herself down the avenue. " _Well, if I take you, I guess that would make me 'late' for getting my braces today. But if I spin it that I helped some pathetic kid get home, I don't think I'll get in all that much trouble."_

Ruth smiled sneakily.

"What are you waiting for Arnold, lead the way."


	6. Paste-for-Brains

**(Thursday, February 12** **th** **)**

Arnold's infatuation with Ruth McDougal only continued to flourish as the seasons changed, and the new year replaced the old. The auburn-haired competitor to Arnold's heart was the subject of his finger painting, the object of his naptime dreams and the primary occupant of his thoughts.

Apart from the obvious rivalry, Helga found herself getting increasingly jealous and upset with Arnold's feelings for Ruth because he felt confident making those feelings public knowledge to some degree. Nobody appeared to laugh at the thought of him mooning over this strange girl three/four years his senior.

But then again, Helga knew that Arnold never allowed himself to feel weak because life had showed him that affection and weakness weren't one and the same to him. He had two grandparents that were willing to pick him up/drop him off at preschool, that packed him a lunch and were willing to invest their time in his wellbeing while still being a loving couple in their own right. Helga by contrast, walked the hardened streets of Hillwood to and from Urban Tots and was lucky if her lunchbox contained anything other than air. At home, Bob and Miriam (they stopped being "mom" and "dad" a long time ago) argued constantly with each other and ignored her; that is until it came time to berate her for not being like her sister. Individually speaking, Bob either fawned over Olga or threw himself into being the town's beeper king. As for Miriam, Helga was already formulating the connection between her mother tottering around the house and the bottles that overflowed from the recycling bin.

If there was any ribbing from Arnold's peers (which of course there was), it was few and far between because the rest of the class didn't find it all that out of place that Arnold could have strong feelings for Ruth, or any girl for that matter. At the end of the day everyone knew affection of any kind came naturally to him.

January gave way to February and the presence of little pink hearts began to swamp the town, Urban Tots included. Valentine's Day was around the corner, and the class was hard at work mutilating construction paper into heart shaped cards for someone they cared about.

"Helga, pass the glitter." Said Rhonda.

"You've already used two bottles." The blonde one shot back.

"Harold!" Sid cried. "Those candy heart aren't for _eating_."

"Yeah, but I'm so hungry." Harold whined.

"You ate six graham crackers Pink Boy, how are you still hungry?"

"Mommy says I'm growing."

"Yeah, from side to side."

And so the children bantered away as they worked on their cards. At the end of the table sat Arnold and Gerald in their own little world as they worked on their respective cards. Gerald was just putting the finishing touches on his second card while Arnold doodled away a picture of Ruth as if he was chiseling _David_.

"…Arnold, my man." Said Gerald. "All I'm saying is that on the oft chance Ruth doesn't like your card, just…don't take it too hard."

"I know what you mean Gerald." Said Arnold. "But it's like, she and I just, you know, have a connection."

"If you say so buddy." He replied while fitting lace around the edges.

"Hey Gerald, got any glue?"

"I think there is some down at the other end of the table by…"

Arnold looked up to see a good third of the decorating goods amassed by Helga's seat. Yet she sat there in the throes of mental block. He rubbed at his left eye which had finally healed from its collision with Helga's fist and made his way across the table.

Helga continued to stare blankly at her empty pink construction heart. It wasn't that she had no idea who her card was going to, or what she wanted it to say/contain. The question was how. How was she going to express the deep longing for Arnold Shortman that shook her frame?

More importantly, how was she going to make the card, and ensure that he received it, without her peers knowing that she was a mush for this kid?

"Hey Helga." Said Sid. "If you're just going to have an empty card, you can at least quit hogging the decorations."

"Yeah Helga," said Rhonda. "It's not like you've got anyone that makes this day worth something to you."

"Cram a sock in it Princess-"

" _Or I'll answer to Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers._ " Rhonda replied while mockingly waving her fist in the air.

"I'm sure if _Arnold_ asked, it'd be a different story." Harold began to sneer.

The table let out a collective and scandalous "Ooh".

"What's that supposed to mean Porky?" She snapped.

"Well let's see." Began Rhonda. "None of us ever seen him get a taste of Ol' Betsy like the rest of us."

"Now that you mention, I reckon you've done never clobbered him either." Said Stinky.

"Sometimes you stare at him and get this really stupid look on your face." Sid chimed in. "Like when he gave you his crackers that one snack time."

" _WIDDLE_ HELGA GOES SOFT WHENEVER SHE'S AROUND _AWNOLD_!" Harold cackled obnoxiously. "OH, THIS IS COMPLETELY RICH!"

As if on cue, a visibly mortified Arnold bumped lightly into Helga.

"Uh…I need some paste." Arnold stammered.

The rage coursing through Helga's four year old frame could have powered a small country. Her body shook and her face contorted in the ugliest frown she could muster. In a flash, she tore Arnold's valentine to shreds, took two bottles of glue, and squeezed them with all her might over the young boy's hair before pushing him to the ground. To further cow her peers back under her thumb, Helga laid waste to the arts and crafts table.

"I LOVE NOBODY!" She screeched as decorations flew hither and yon. "ESPECIALLY YOU ARNOLD PASTE-FOR-BRAINS SHORTMAN! I HATE YOU! _I HATE YOU_! **_I HATE YOU_** **!** "

 **(Friday, February 13** **th** **)**

If there was one feeling Arnold Shortman never understood up to now, it was anger.

After Helga's tantrum with the glue the day before, Arnold was sent home for the rest of the day. Phil took him to the doctor's office to assess how much damage the fight left on him while Gertie washed and shaved Arnold's hair afterwards, with him struggling and seething through the process.

"I know it hurts Kimba, but calm yourself." His grandmother replied sternly yet comprehensively.

Despondently, Arnold complied. There was more to the pain than just each sticky clump being yanked at and sliced off. Every worldview and personal belief he held stock in seemed to descend with each wad of his hair: Patience. Compassion. Love. Forgiveness. It had all been shorn away and washed into the nothingness, replaced instead by a level of hurt that didn't go down the proverbial drain all too easily. Arnold ran his fingers across his scalp the next morning as he sat in his grandfather's Packard, still hollowed and seeing red on account of yesterday's events. As the day ran its course, Arnold remained uncharacteristically silent and sullen as the humiliation and glumness boiled over into rage. Oh, he went through the motions of being "Arnold", but it all felt phony and robotic.

Morning gave way to noon and lunch became naptime. Arnold looked over at Helga laying at the farthest end from everyone else, and her back turned to him. Once he was sure everyone was asleep, he rose; his brooding fury swelling into a crescendo with each step towards Helga as thoughts of Grandpa's story danced in his imagination. Arnold ultimately found himself standing above Helga, his insides stirring wrathfully at the thought of her little pink bow and how it sat like a beckoning lure as she slumbered.

A little pink bow that drew his eyes to her in the first place.

A little pink bow that broke the ice between the two of them.

A little pink bow ornamenting a caustic and pugnacious demon of a girl who appeared to relish her position as hellion-in-chief of Urban Tots.

 _No turning back now._


	7. I Get it Now

Nobody around Arnold seemed to question why his hand was in his pocket, or the vigorous movement of his fingers therein. Had they done so, they would have found in his possession a telltale pink ribbon, quite an uncharacteristic accessory for a four-year-old boy.

Arnold ran his fingers through his fabric trophy as he savored his actions that afternoon. It had taken every ounce of will to do what he did, but keeping it a secret took serious gall, even as his guilt begun to manifest itself inwardly and outwardly.

Naptime ended an hour ago and it took Helga a minute and a half to realize her bow had been stolen. The realization of what happened unleashed a tantrum which even by her given standards was too much; the entire class felt some level of pain be it in the form of being bitten or through black eyes/broken noses. But it was the damaged window where Mr. Frank and the other Urban Tots staff members finally drew the line and resolutely suspended the Pataki girl for three weeks.

"THREE WEEKS?!" Bob thundered through the other end of the phone. "You're _positive_ another check can't-"

"Mr. Pataki, this can't go on anymore." Mr. Frank replied. "Helga and the others need to learn that in life, they can't buy their way out of consequences. Urban Tots may not be the proudest preschool there is, but we believe that we owe it to the children in our charge to provide some-"

"Arrugh! Spare me the psychobabble Dr. Spock, I'll be down to collect her in five minutes." Bob groaned. "This NEVER would have happened to Olga."

A crowd formed by the windows to see Helga off to her suspension from school and didn't disperse until Bob's hummer was just a speck on the horizon. The children talked amongst themselves about what was going to happen now, but Arnold remained outwardly unfazed. Inwardly however, was a different story:

 _"I hope you're proud with yourself Arnold."_

 _*The voice is ominously quiet, icy, and deep. Each syllable it speaks echoes and sends tremors through the Shortman boy's body like a large bell reverberating after being rung. Yet the_ _usually good-hearted and conscience driven lad feels no qualms about his actions and decides to go toe-to-toe with the voice in his head.*_

 _Quite, actually. She had it coming._

 _"And what about Gerald? He's your best friend! Did_ _he_ _have it coming when she bit him?"_

 _No. But-_

 _"But nothing Arnold. Gerald, Phoebe, Rhonda, everyone has felt some consequence of your action today."_

 _And they would have felt it in some way if I didn't! We've all sat with our thumbs in our ears while this girl has put us all through hell, bow or no bow. Somebody had to do something, and if the mantle fell to me, then so be it._

 _"If you say so."_

* * *

Arnold sat in the front seat of Grandpa Phil's Packard and continued to stare out the window.

"You ok, Shortman?" he asked. "You know, I did hear about that girl with the eyebrow getting the boot."

"Yeah, it finally happened." Arnold said. "She went berserk after her bow went missing."

"Missing you say" said Phil. "Isn't that a shame? She really seemed to love that bow. I'd see her sometimes driving you to school patting at it and smiling."

"Helga? Smiling?" Arnold yelped.

"Oh yeah, as if something or someone made it mean the world to them. Or it connected them to a good memory of a person they missed. You know, like that hat Miles got you."

For the first time that afternoon, Arnold's blood turned to ice, albeit for a second. He tensed up a little, clenching the fabric in his pocket.

"Something wrong there Shortman?"

"Nah, just a bit chilly." He responded nonchalantly.

Arnold raced up to his room and placed Helga's bow underneath the lamp on his nightstand, catching his reflection in the mirror as he dashed towards the door. He felt his insides squeeze and curdle while studying the image looking back at him. Particularly as he focused on his hat.

 _"…'as if something or someone made it mean the world to them. Or it connected them to a good memory of a person they missed. You know, like that hat Miles got you'…"_

 _Stop._

 _"It would be a shame if that hat were to, oh…go missing? Or get stolen?"_

 _Stop it!_

 _"I seemed to recall that it did, didn't it? She just snatched it off your head. One would think that you of all people-"_

"YOU NEED! TO STOP!" Arnold found himself screaming.

"Everything ok up there Shortman?" Grandpa called from downstairs.

Arnold froze again. Mortified that grandpa and who even knew whom else had now become privy to his outburst.

"Just some pigeons on the skylight grandpa." Arnold called back. "I think I scared them off."

With the bow stuffed away in the nightstand's little drawer, Arnold looked back defiantly in the mirror and adjusted his hat.

 _Go pick on_ _ **HER**_ _for a while, ok?_

* * *

Arnold's guilt didn't stop.

If anything, since Grandpa Phil mentioned the significance of his hat, the little boy felt a small hole had been drilled into his otherwise unwavering sense of justification. Dinner with the other boarders at Sunset Arms only provided more chances for his culpability to be poked and prodded into overdrive; Grandpa and Grandma made bow-tie pasta, Suzie's book of the month club was starting Dostoyevsky's _Crime and Punishment_ , Ernie talked about getting a new beeper at Bob's with his bonus, while Oscar was being berated by Mr. Hyunh for attempting to stuff a second roll in his pocket.

"Grandpa is right; all you'll ever be is a thieving little bum." He shouted while Oscar sheepishly giggled.

While the rest of the boarders finished the last morsels of their meals, Arnold listlessly stared at his half-eaten plate as if it was giving him the world's most tedious lecture.

"You alright there little guy?" Asked Ernie. "You're usually the first one finished."

"I'm not all that hungry today." He replied. "My stomach is a bit upset."

"Oh, what a shame Shortman." Phil replied. "Pookie got us all a nice treat for dessert.

As if it was almost on cue, Gertrude burst through the door dressed as a groundhog shouting "Remember, remember, the fifth of November" while brandishing a large strawberry cake. The collective groaning of the boarders over Gertrude's theatrics was lost on Arnold as he focused on the bright pink frosting that smothered the pastry.

 _A flash._

 _Four months ago, Arnold stands in the rain outside of Urban Tots. The sight before him of the girl on the corner in the pouring rain triggers his desire to help others. His little umbrella opens over Helga's muddy and forlorn frame. She looks up at the unfurled umbrella completely taken aback by the sudden reprieve of the falling rain._

 _"Hi. Nice Bow."_

 _"Huh?"_

 _"I like your bow, because it's pink like your pants."_

 _"Because it's pink like your pants."_

 _"Because it's pink like your pants."_

 _"Because it's pink like your pants." *Says Arnold, but now in the strange voice that had been haunting him all afternoon*_

Again, Arnold shuddered and felt his blood freeze solid. He excused himself from the table and toddled off to bed. Once the door was slammed shut, he furiously changed into his pajamas and retired for the evening all muttering the following mantra: 'I will not feel bad about Helga G. Pataki.' By the thirty-fifth time he had said this, sleep came to Arnold almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

 _Arnold awoke to find that for some odd reason, a strange pinkish glow and faint ethereal hum had begun to originate from the little drawer of his nightstand; which apparently he had left open a crack. Once he ever so slightly opened it further, the bow leapt out and unraveled into an unending pink pathway on the floor. It continued to roll under the space beneath his closet door seemingly into eternity. His curiosity piqued, the football-headed four year old rubbed the sleep from his eyes and followed the pink pathway. As Arnold stepped past the threshold, his bedroom dissolved door and all and he found himself under the glaring lights of an eerily silent high school hallway._

 _Each step Arnold took echoed thunderously. Every color in the hall appeared to be washed out and sickly, from the red lockers and tan water fountain to the blue bulletin board paper and gold-plated trophies. Only the pink pathway before him retained its vibrant hues. Just as he was ready to ask where he was, Arnold turned the corner to find himself facing an imposing mural; a giant "H" painted in the school's colors of Navy and Scarlet and flanked by two axes. A ribbon underneath bore the words "Hillwood High School: Home of Your Hillwood Lumberjacks."_

 _The boy's thoughts were interrupted by a muffled argument coming from the giant wooden doors marked "Cafeteria". Arnold pushed the door open with all his might, finding himself almost flattened by the wall of noise that came from within. A crowd had begun to form between two very angry young men, one beefy jock in a 22 Jersey and a considerably scrawnier specimen with striking blonde hair, whose heated exchange was seconds away from boiling over._

 _"Listen Shorty! Cerkanowitz told me that if I don't pass that next Anthro test in two weeks my grade plummets. If my grade plummets, I'm not on the team anymore. If I'm not on the team anymore who the hell will lead the Lumberjacks to victory? You?! Fat chance! Since you're such an egghead I need your notes pronto, deal?"_

 _"No. I'm willing to tutor you as a gesture of good faith, but-"_

 _"Don't you get it? I got no time for that! How can I be 'Big Bob the Football King' if I can't play football because of some stupid test?"_

 _"Then consider this a wake-up call that you tromping around being 'Big Bob the Football King' can only take you so far."_

 _Robert reared his hands back and shoved Miles to the floor. Arnold could feel the force between both young men's bodies pummel through him. Much like Helga, Robert's hands had the force of a small truck. But Miles jumped up undaunted by the assault and jumped his attacker. The cafeteria roared as the two men tussled amongst themselves. Miles pulled at Robert's hair with one hand and used a fork to stab at his face with the other. Robert found a way to ultimately toss Miles off his back, only to be clocked in the back of the head with a garage bin._

 _As the Pataki boy let his guard down, distracted by the pain, Miles charged at him and knocked the football player into a lunch table. Robert let out an unworldly shriek of pain felt sickening crack as his leg collided with the corner of the table. But Miles didn't care. He leapt on top of the fallen football star, proceeding to scratch, pummel and even bite at his face; impervious to the pleas for mercy._

 _Suddenly all the clamoring went silent, yet the fight between the two future fathers continued; leaving Arnold to wonder if he had indeed gone deaf. An unexpected force bounced Arnold out from the cafeteria and back into the washed-out hallway and he large wooden doors subsequently faded from their place on the walls. The already chilly temperature around him began to plummet rapidly and a faint cackling took the place of the din._

 _"I remember that fight." Came an all too familiar voice. "Quite a spectacle if you ask me."_

 _Arnold turned around and gaped. Standing before him was a phantasmagorical figure that relished in towering over him. His dark and gloomy presence bought to mind the most ominous of rainclouds with hands reminiscent of a chicken's foot. Topping his tubular physique was an ashen colored, almost mummified, head frozen in rage with vacuous pits in place of eyes and an equally empty crevice for a mouth. The scream he wished to unleash remained lodged in his throat. The thing before him continued to speak in his quiet, icy, and deep intonation._

 _"Arnold Philip Shortman. We've talked all day, but it's nice to meet you; and for us to finally see each other. Eye to eye."_

 _"What are you?" The boy eventually croaked frightfully._

 _The ghost laughed._

 _"Haven't you forgotten so easily? I am the disgust you carry within the deepest recesses of your heart. I am that colicky wrath that turns righteous fury into blind rage. I am everything you hide from, everything you wish to sedate into silence and paralysis but can never escape from."_

 _"Simply put Arnold, I am Hatred in its most unfiltered form. And I have come to claim you."_

 _Before Arnold could ask another question Hatred ripped off his head and tossed it down the other end of the hallway. With a final snap of his fingers he crumbled away like grains of sand down an hourglass. Three seconds after his disappearance, a low grumbling filled the hallway of Hillwood high school. The walls and floors began to crack and crumble, falling away like puzzle pieces into the outer darkness._

 _Arnold ran from the destruction in an attempt to spare himself from being sucked into the void. The school continued to fall apart behind him, but Arnold was one step ahead of the next piece that broke off and drifted away._

 _"Why is everything suddenly getting hot though?" He thought to himself._

 _As he rounded the corner and came near where the main exit should have been, what Arnold came face to face with answered his own question; where the doors to Hillwood high should have stood was a round and skyscraping iron furnace. Two windows only further testified to the raging fire within the head-shaped crucible. The smoke wafting from the side chimneys billowed in two triangles while a bow shaped pressure monitor sat on the furnace's top. The doors opened and closed in a repeated up-and-down motion like a mouth, letting out a distinctive and mechanical creaking noise that if heard the right way sounded like this:_

 _"Foot-BALL._ _ **HEAD**_ _! Foot-Ball._ _ **HEAD**_ _."_

 _The furnace suddenly began to move forward. Arnold turned around only to find that much of the hallways had already been crumbled up and sucked away into the nothingness. But still the furnace lumbered closer and closer, causing him to teeter between its doorway and the ledge of what remained of the school._

 _Arnold felt a hand grab him away as the hallway's final piece crumbled away, taking the Helga shaped furnace with it. For a moment, he felt safe; frightened out of his wits sure, but safe. However as he looked up at his savior, his heart sunk faster than a lead balloon. Hatred's scaly talon snapped and the boy fell just as fast into the darkness. Just when it felt like there was no end to the drop, he could see a blinding fire beginning to greet him. As Arnold inched closer and closer to the incinerator's ever widening threshold, he curled up in a vain attempt to shield himself from the flames that sought to consume him._

 _"Foooooot-BAAAAAAA…"_


	8. I Have Your Bow

**(Saturday February 14** **th** **)**

Arnold woke up with an audible gasp, drenched in enough sweat to fill a small fish tank. The little clock in his room bore the time 3:25 am. Almost two hours until the first light of day came up from the east.

Once he had finished quietly changing his pajamas, the little boy tentatively opened the drawer on his nightstand. The telltale pink bow sat unmolested in the same position he had left it the day before. Barely a day ago, it was his most coveted war trophy; but now he picked up with all the trepidation with which one would handle a venomous snake before heading downstairs for something to drink.

A lukewarm pot of tea sat on the stovetop from last night. Arnold pushed a chair over and poured himself a glass. With each sip, he began to process the nightmare that had just occurred. The wheels in the little boy's head began to turn, just as they had when Grandpa first told the story of the epic fight between Miles and Bob. Helga figuratively held the class hostage with her bullying just as her father did with being the head jock all those many years ago; that said though, neither of them claimed to be nice people. By contrast, Arnold (like his father) _did_ make that claim, and for the most part he made all efforts to put his money where his mouth was. But when they fell, they fell HARD. Claiming "righteous fury" could only excuse so much of what they did to their respective tormenters. Robert never went on to be that big football star, and God only knew how Helga was coping with having something stolen and a semi-justified suspension to boot.

Yesterday, Arnold's unwavering sense of justification towered like an impenetrable fortress. Yet as he set Helga's bow on the kitchen table next to his tea, the little boy could feel the charred façade of his once seemingly iron reasonings crumble over into bits of ash. Hatred and the Helga-furnace were jarring enough, but it was seeing his father Miles wailing on Robert that delivered the crushing blow. For the first time in his life, the pride Arnold had for dad was challenged. Granted, Bob was a jerk and all, but the romantic image of his father wasn't there anymore; or at the very least in that moment.

And now neither was he proud of himself.

 _You're not a bad kid. You got tested and well…you failed. But that's what happens when you go around being who you are. You're in for a lifetime of Roberts and Helgas who are all too happy to push your buttons. They want you to lash out like you did yesterday. Beating them up may feel good in the moment, but that moment passes, and life goes on. The bruises on their bodies will heal faster than the bruises on your reputation._

Arnold continued to alternate between fiddling with the bow a little more and sipping at the tea on the oven. Before long, the first rays of sunlight began to peak over the horizon. The clock read 7:15 in the morning.

 _Life goes on, and if you're lucky you get a chance to fix what you broke._

Being Saturday, Grandma and Grandpa weren't due to wake up for a long while, and none of the other boarders were the type to begrudge him an early morning stroll. Arnold tiptoed back upstairs to put on his coat and shoes. With the bow back in his pocket, he shimmied down the fire escape and made his way to the Pataki house.

Arnold's walk to Casa Pataki didn't take as long as he thought. As the Shortman boy reached the mostly glass front door, adorned with a pretentious wrought-iron doorknocker shaped like a lion's head, his stomach suddenly went into knots. How exactly was he going to broach the subject? How was he going to survive Helga's wrath if he told the truth?

The door suddenly opened and out came Olga furiously throwing a box to the curb. She had been crying, as evidenced by the lines of mascara that ornamented her eyes. She huffed something about a "Chad" followed by a string of other words that would have earned Arnold a mouthful of soap had he said them before turning back through the front door. From the threshold Arnold could see the faint outline of a pink jumper and the edge of a blonde pigtail.

"Get back here Little Lady." Came a gruff voice as the door shut.

After less than five minutes, Arnold took a deep breath and gave the door three knocks. He could hear one of Big Bob's famous exasperated grunts coming from the Trophy Room before the opened the door.

"What do you want kid? I'm busy."

"Actually, I'm here for Helga." Arnold said. "I have something of hers."

"Helga, well… be quick, she's in a lot of trouble." He turned his neck around and thundered. "Hey Helga, one of your snot-nosed friends from school is at the door…uh, the one with the freakishly shaped head!"

Helga waddled furiously to the door while Bob made his way back to the trophy room. As the face of Arnold Shortman came into view, a brief and loving glint quickly flashed across her eyes like a shooting star. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

"Arnold!" She yelped excitedly. "I…mean…Let me guess, you've come here to gawk too haven't you?"

"Um…" began Arnold.

"Don't play stupid with me Hair Boy. The rest of those Yutzes in our class have already come to rub it in: ' _Look at Helga G. Pataki, the undersized terror of Urban Tots, caged in her house like the tiger in the zoo. Pooh-pooh.'_ "

"Helga…"

"Meanwhile, Bob and Miriam have been on the warpath all day because Little Miss Perfect's chump of a boyfriend decided it'd be easier to break up with her last minute before Valentine's Day, rather than cough up some money on a romantic gift for her."

"Helga…"

"What, Arnoldo? What's so important that it has you standing there blathering my name like you're Rain Man?"

Arnold sighed and wordlessly pulled her pink bow out of his jacket pocket. All the boiling fury Helga had nursed in the past few hours had begun to subside and simmer. She froze in the doorway as the love of her life's hands unwrapped her prized accoutrement, the bow that bought them together and hopefully would tie the two of them together as soulmates. Helga squeaked pathetically, fighting off every urge to embrace him. Instead she snatched the bow from his hands and snapped back into the cold little girl with something to prove.

"Arnold…I…I…" She began weakly.

"Yes Helga?" He responded.

"I don't know how _my_ bow came into _your_ possession." She said after swiping it and resting it on her head. "But if you're expecting some mushy thank you because it's Valentine's Day, then I guess your grandma must have shaved off some of your brain cells too. Now get off my stoop. And if I see you here again you'll be getting a kiss from Ol' Betsy. Hear me?"

"Whatever you say Helga." Arnold replied.

* * *

Helga melted once the door was shut.

It took every nerve she had to keep her countenance in a scowl until Arnold had bounded the corner and disappeared from view. But in the safety of her home, Helga felt every bone in her body turning into pudding as she sighed and slumped to the floor, her face breaking into delusional look of lovesick glee. She clutched at the frayed and folded paper heart nestled in her jumper and stared into the ceiling.

 _Arnold. My love. My bold little knight. Selflessly strolling through these rough and dirty streets to bring back my bow, all despite my incessant and gratuitous cruelty to you. Ohhh._

"Hey Girlie." Bob hollered from the Trophy room.

The abruptness of his voice not only bought Helga crashing back to reality but caused her to accidentally rip up the pink paper heart.

"What?" She shot back icily.

"Tell your little boyfriend to scram. You're still in trouble you know."

"He left already Bob."

Helga toddled back into the Trophy Room to see Olga bawling like a maniac and wringing out a sopping wet handkerchief while Bob and Miriam consoled her. The last box of stuff that reminded her of Chad sat in the middle of the room awaiting its one way trip to the curb.

"…Tell you what Olga." Bob said. "You've had a productive morning getting rid of stuff, why don't we go to Sub King, the two of us. Consider it a daddy daughter date. And maybe some shopping."

"Oh sure daddy." She said less morosely. "Don't you want to come along mommy?"

"I'd love to Honey but..." Miriam slurred as she sipped the last dregs of her smoothie. "...Someone needs to keep an eye on Helga."

"That's right." Bob replied turning to his second daughter. "Since you apparently can't handle yourself in public, you're home-bound for the next three weeks."

Helga dismissively rolled her eyes at her father's comment. Before long, Bob and Olga were out the door and Miriam was out, period. As her mother slept off her inebriate state, Helga managed to jimmy open the front door. The three boxes of crap Olga had previously dumped to the curb contained memories of her and Chad. With a small grunt, she flipped one over; sending its contents spilling onto the sidewalk and street.

An empty gold-plated locket in the shape of a heart was the first thing to catch Helga's eye. She picked it up and measured it against her treasured photograph of the Shortman boy. Naturally, it fit like a glove. As she crumpled up both the halves and tossed them away, a gust of wind sent them flying off into the street. Helga looked down to see that the same gust of wind had also captured a spongey football Chad had won for Olga from a cheese festival from years gone by. The football came to rest next to a headless baby doll wearing a crudely sewn flannel over shirt and blue jeans Olga made during her sewing phase.

"Hmm." Helga said lovingly. "That's it!"

Rummaging through the other two boxes yielded a glass jar of buttons, a yellow lampshade with a hole in it, a rubber bat from Halloween, and a random doll sized cooking pot. A couple minutes of privacy and a bottle of glue later, Helga looked at her photo of Arnold, then at the little statue. The likeness was passable: Olga's football sat atop the headless doll and topping it was the bat wings which had been wrapped in bits of cloth cut from the lampshade.

Before long, all that was left to do was find eyes for her creation. Luckily enough Helga spotted two emerald colored resin buttons that bought to mind a smoothed sample of malachite. Just as she held them up to the light, Bob peeked in. He stared at his daughter for a moment, then confusedly at her craft.

"Isn't that…" He began. "I'm not even gonna ask."

* * *

The day came and went, and in the closet of her room Helga placed her little doll in a place of reverence, or at least as much reverence as the closet could afford. Two flashlights stood in vigil, each flanking her creation as she looked upon it in adoration, releasing a sigh of adoration. A simple sigh that said so much:

 _Oh Arnold. You must think I'm the world's worst person for all the garbage I put you and…well everyone else through. But if you only began to know how much power you have over me; what one umbrella and complement meant to a poor neglected girl sustaining herself off whatever crumbs her family deigns to throw her. But you, my ever-patient flaxen-haired candle on the water, I swear to you that a day will come when I will finally tell you all that you mean to me and more._

The thunderous knocking of Bob's fist on the door cut into her thoughts.

"Bedtime Missy." He huffed.

"Alright Bob."

Helga shut off the flashlights and closed the door to her closet. Once under the covers, she pulled the locket from under the pillow and with what little light provided by the moon stared deeply at the smiling image of Arnold Philip Shortman contained within. After giving it a demure kiss she clutched it sadly to her chest and began her surrender to a good night's sleep.

 _But today isn't that day._


	9. Epilogue: 24 Hours til Love

**(20 or so years later)**

Arnold fumbled with the keys to his apartment for a while. Eventually he unlocked the door and stumbled in; the room seemed to sway and spin with each step he took. After what felt like hours, he safely came to crash on top of his bed. He'd always heard lore about how bachelor parties usually were wild in nature, but he never felt that one would end with him coming home buzzed out of his skull.

But tonight's party was in his honor; so if any night presented itself with a good excuse for coming home like he did, it would've been tonight.

Twenty six year old Arnold Shortman felt giddy and worn in all the best ways; the guys took him to a football game then dinner/pub trivia at a local tavern where they celebrated his waning days as a bachelor well into the night. As he rolled onto his bed, Arnold came face to face with the photo album of on his nightstand. He thumbed quickly from the album's rear, looking at his memories as opposed to those of his parents, until he stopped at a sixth-grade portrait of a certain blonde girl with one eyebrow and blonde hair. Though she styled it in a ponytail these days, as opposed to those gravity-defying pigtails from her youth. Helga Geraldine Pataki still wore that eye-catching pink bow.

It all seemed so stupid to Arnold how much time and effort he and Helga wasted on hating each other as kids. Elementary school was a blur of name-calling, threats, and spitballs on her end and frayed nerves and resigned choruses of 'whatever you say' on his end. But every now and then, Arnold had the feeling that there was more to Helga then she let on; she could be a passionate co-star in the school play, a loyal fighter when it came to saving municipal shrubbery, an ardent intercessor for parade float funding and above all, a very fierce friend who would all too happily put beach-town bimbettes in their place for taking advantage of his good nature.

Then of course, there was Helga's willingness to eschew the promise of fortune and help Arnold save the neighborhood from a businessman's maddening scheme to avenge his family (followed of course by an overwhelming monologue); coupled with all she did to assure their fifth-grade trip to San Lorenzo where she went on to sacrifice her most prized possession to restore the health of those afflicted by the Sleeping Sickness. The last of these two adventures more than anything finally made him realize that past her blustery husk, Helga was at the end of the day, an irreplaceable gem of a woman.

The two of them officially started dating in sixth grade, albeit, clandestinely; only Phoebe and Gerald were privy to their relationship, and naturally kept it secret. The two of them managed to have a good go at keeping what they had under wraps until their Freshmen Semi-Formal in high school. While Arnold was politely turning down half the female student body left and right, the boys were giggling amongst themselves over who would jump the grenade known as Helga. But when neither of them showed up to that night's festivities, all their fellow classmates slowly started to do the math.

The shock never seemed to fully wear off from the news that Arnold and Helga were an item. The feelings of their peers made sense superficially; one would have no choice but to scratch their head as to what the altruistic and strapping boy with the blue baseball hat saw in the temperamental and austere girl with the pink ribbon. But yet, as high school came with its own set of dramas among everyone else with break ups, make ups and everything in between, Arnold and Helga begrudgingly became everyone's unanimous runner up to what defined relationship goals (that is, behind Gerald and Phoebe of course).

Even when it came time for them to start college, Arnold and Helga were already making plans as to how they'd keep what they had going. Both decided long ago that they shared so much together in life that the thought of dating anyone else just sounded not just ridiculous but impossible. The two of them were willing to make what they had work and succeeded; as evidenced by a photograph of the two of them after her graduation from Bennington. He stared awkwardly into the camera while she grinned mischievously after "sneakily" placing her white graduation cap atop him.

Arnold's phone buzzed, interrupting him from his stumble down memory lane.

"Hello Darling." He said drunkenly.

"Aww, Arnold. I didn't know you cared like that." Laughed Gerald's voice from the other end.

"Dammit." Arnold Groaned.

"It's me Gerald." He continued. "Just wanted to make sure the Uber got you home alright."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Arnold said sing-songily. "Yeah…just…thumbing through some photos is all."

"Well that explains your greeting Mr. Romance." Said Gerald. "Like I said, you had a couple pints so I'm just calling to see if you made it home safely is all."

"Ah, yeah I'm here." Arnold replied. "Like I said, just looking at some photos of Helga and I throughout the years…you know Gerald, it's quite funny about what she and I have had all this time. If anyone would have told me that I'd be here, I'd ask for whatever they're smoking."

"I hear ya, man." Gerald nodded. "Even now, it's still pretty shocking that you and Pataki are tying the knot."

"'Kinda is isn't it?" Slurred Arnold. "Figuring her out was an emotional Rubik's Cube when we were younger, but when you cut past it all, you find life with her being a roller coaster in all the best possible ways. I remember one college break she showed me this book by…some philosopher. Anyway he wrote that people were once glued back to back before they pissed off the gods and got split in half. Now we go through life always trying to find our "other half", and the desire to do so is love. Helga came from a crappy home, I didn't know my parents for much of my life and…I guess in that, we became each other's whole."

Arnold could hear a sniffle coming from the other end of his phone.

"Jesus, dude are you crying now?" Arnold giggled.

"No, I…gotta go…dust the room." Said Gerald quickly before hanging up.

The wedding day came before Arnold and his friends knew it. Packed into the local church, Arnold looked around at all the faces sharing in not just his special day, but Helga's as well. He couldn't help but feel a little bad as he scanned the front pews reserved for the bride and groom's immediate families; the groom side was crammed with his parents (holding a picture of Grandma Gertrude, assuredly watching from heaven) as well as past and present boarders of the Sunset Arms building. By contrast, the only immediate relative of the bride was Olga who served as bridesmaid alongside Phoebe and Lila. Various and distant Aunts, Uncles and cousins occupied the bride's half of the church, all of whom looked like they'd rather be on Mars than present at the service. Arnold had a sinking feeling that even if his soon-to-be in-laws weren't _still_ attending their respective court-ordered anger management and sobriety programs, both would share in the sentiments of the other odds-and-ends making up the Pataki gene pool.

The flourish of the organ bought his thoughts crashing back to earth and the doors swung open. Helga stepped past the threshold and into the narthex and reached out for Phil's hand who volunteered to give the bride away in lieu of Bob. Despite Arnold's attempts to dissuade the now 101 year old man, Phil would not relent in his decision. Helga had always reminded him of Gertrude, especially now more than ever in the wake of her passing. With every step she took, he thought of every step they took as kids that lead to this moment.

 _"Helga, I've known you my whole life, practically, and you've always been angry…and kinda…y'know mean."_

 _What do you know football head? I am bad, see I'm as bad as they come. I'm bad to the bone bucko and don't you forget it._

 _As a matter of fact I still hate your stinking guts._

 _Take me to the can Jeeves, I'm about to explode._

 _First spitball of the day football head_ _._

 _"But I've also seen you be really loyal and super brave. So I always wondered if maybe you were mean to me because…well, you loved me."_

 _I swear she's up to no good. SHE'S A MANEATER!_

 _I guess maybe I took pity on you and your stupid friends!_

 _It's not a very pure heart-I don't know, I think your heart is more pure than you know._

 _I guess I was afraid to show my true feelings. But you knew it all along, didn't you?_

 _*Arnold holds Helga's hands and kisses her. Helga's foot lifts up in the air.*_

 _"I really like you Arnold, like lightning likes thunder, like faces like fists! I've always loved you ever since I first laid eyes on your stupid football-looking head. And from that moment and every moment and every moment since I've lived and breathed for you. Dreamed of the moment I could finally tell you my secret feelings. To grab you and kiss you and…Oh, Arnold…Arnold…Arnold…"_

"Arnold?" Helga said with calm impatience.

"I do Helga, now and forever." Arnold quickly blurted out.

"That's nice and all, but we haven't got to that part yet." The pastor said as the congregation shared a snicker.

Arnold pursed his lips together in mortification as his bride took her place abreast to Phoebe, Lila and Olga. She just smiled as if to say, _you're not the only one who's ready for this_. The pastor then cleared his throat and the service began. Once the two had exchanged vows, they shared their first kiss as man and wife.

Just like in Helga's dream, the bell tolled as the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Shortman ran down the steps of the church into their limo. Stinky had just finished spraying the final touches of the "just married" message adorning the rearview mirror. As soon as the door closed the car sped off towards the airport where a plane waited to take them on their honeymoon around Europe.

The years passed and one by one Arnold and Helga's childhood friends moved away to live their lives. Some still kept in touch with the Shortmans (like Phoebe and Gerald) but for the most part the others just fell off the face of the earth and into memory. As for the two of them, Helga took on work as a relatively successful YA writer, drawing much inspiration from all the urban legends Gerald once prided himself on being the keeper of, while Arnold worked as a child psychologist. They continued to live in the boarding house on Vine Street seeing old tenants move out and new ones take their place.

In time, it was the arrival of one particular tenant that changed Arnold and Helga's life for good, Eleanor Kimberly Shortman. Before her birth, the two of them chided how people threw around the term "bundle of joy" to describe their child, but for the two of them little Eleanor breathed new life into those words. All the gold in the world couldn't measure the value in her first steps, her feeble attempts to say "mommy" or even her first meal that didn't find itself spat upon the kitchen walls.

Before long, Eleanor grew to be a well-adjusted toddler. Sharing both her parent's sense of adventure and independence when it came to the day. Traits both Arnold and Helga were grateful she picked up when it came time for her to start going to school. Her excitement was evident that September morning when she bounded down the stairs.

"Whose gonna take me to pweskool?"

Arnold popped his head out of the kitchen and chuckled at her daughter's attempts to dress herself. Her inside out orange t-shirt clashed with the snug purple pair of cargo shorts Phoebe got her two Christmases ago. Her mismatched socks were made all the more noticeable by the fact that she had put her shoes on the wrong feet. Lastly to say she had a case of bedhead was to say that Antarctica was a tad chilly.

"Oh Helga," he began with a slight sing-song tone. "Eleanor could use a little help with her wardrobe.

Helga looked up from her laptop on the dining room table. The sight before her elicited a hearty laugh.

"Ok sweetie, let's go back upstairs." She said after catching her breath and wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I do good job?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, let's just say that you have grasped the basics of getting dressed, but you could still use a bit of…well, finesse."

Helga and her daughter finally settled on the orange shirt and found a nice new pair of blue jeans with butterflies on the pockets. She also took the time to teach Eleanor the finer points of tying her shoes (which she did well up to the part when it came time to make the loops). But her hair was where the two of them began to lock horns. Eleanor inherited much in terms of looks from her mother, right down to how her hair grew and fell. While the little Shortman girl had no qualms with it getting in the way of her eyes, Helga was finding her patience wearing out with the little girl's insistence of having her way.

After taking a couple deep breaths, Helga went into her room and pulled out a little pink bow from a little drawer on the nightstand. Eleanor initially scoffed at it, but once Helga made mention of the possibility that her dessert hung in the balance, the little girl relented and clipped it to her hair, albeit with a look that could melt steel.

"Ok daddy I'm weady for pweskool, stupid bow and all." Eleanor said with a grumble.

Arnold shook his head and with a small smile and squatted to Eleanor's level for a better look at the aforementioned 'stupid bow'.

"Hey. This bow is many things, but stupid isn't one of them." He said softly while patting her shoulder. "I happen to like it…"

Arnold got back up to embrace Helga; giving her a passionate-enough peck on the cheek.

"…Because it's pretty like your mother."

 **AN: A big "Thank You" to everyone who read, favorited, commented on and (possibly even) shared this fic. As I said before, I am humbled that many people liked this as much as they did. If anyone is interested in reading any more of my work, I am also working on a collection of one-shots titled "Life Beyond the Jungle".**

 **Special thanks to YouTuber AllAboutTheSun for putting together this video. It was a great deal of inspiration for Arnold's wedding montage : watch?v=3uBTE_5yLQ0**


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